


The Oldest and Strongest

by saltandlimes



Series: Whoever Fights Monsters [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Evil Ben Solo, It's actually not but might look that way, Jedi Ben Solo, Knifeplay, M/M, Monsters au, well it's complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarran Hux deserves everything Ben can give him. He does. But if that's so, why is Ben so angry when Hux disagrees?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oldest and Strongest

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the sequel you have heard about. No, this is simply a smutty oneshot for [monsters](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/monsters_au).

> “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”  
>  H. P. Lovecraft

Tarran Hux makes a pretty picture, laid out like this, arms outstretched across the bed. Ben licks his lips. He's naked, except for boxers that show the outline of his soft cock, soft like so much of him that Ben can taste, touch. Tied tight, and not even struggling. Knows his place now.

Ben strips quickly, slides off his leggings. Tarran stares. Watches from heavy lidded eyes, unmoving. And it's heavy, that attention on him alone. He can see why Tarran could hold a hundred thousand men in sway with just the sound of his voice, the flame in his eyes. And yet...

He lost. 

And now he's Ben's. Ben's to take, and bend, and remake. Ben's to vent his frustration on in lines of red and green and black and blue. He smiles, that wolf's grin that he never uses save here, in this beautiful little place that they hold as their own. He calls the knife over, feeling it slap into his hand without even a glance. Tarran's breath hitches. 

Ben kneels down on the bed, opens himself. And it's as though the knife is a conduit, tearing apart the thin bonds that hold Ben Solo together. They're breaking now, chill flooding through him, pulsing in him in a roiling torrent. Making him who he truly is. He presses the knife to Tarran's collarbone, just enough so that a thin bubble of blood wells out. 

“Do you know something, Tarran?” His own voice is flat, icy and dark with lust, anger, need. “You deserve this.” He drags the knife in a shallow line down the center of Tarran's chest. 

“You deserve more than this. They'd have killed you for what you did. This is nothing. Just repayment.” Tarran huffs a laugh, tight with what must be the stinging drag against his pale skin. “I can bleed it out of you, you know. You killed so many people, and I'll make it right. I make things right.” His breath has sped up just a little. He can use this, use it just as he did during the war. 

“ _I_ killed people?” Tarran's voice is harsh, a bark even as he cringes from the point of the knife. “You are fucking torturing me and you say _I killed people_.” And it's been such a long time since this has happened and Ben thought they were past this. He doesn't know what he's doing, is flinging the knife across the room to shiver in the doorframe, point driven deep. Tarran knows better. He does. 

And his hands are around Tarran's throat in an instant, squeezing, holding. 

“Don't you fucking say that. You deserve this. You all did.” He's panting, breath fast and mingling with Tarran's rattling gasps. “I need this. I should get to have this. I fucking have to hide all the time, have to play the perfect Jedi, and I should get to have this.” His fingers dig into Tarran's throat. 

“You, with your lofty ideals. You're just a power hungry little man. Well, guess what, Tarran? This, this is real power.” And the Dark shimmers inside him, pulsing through his fingertips to wrap itself around Tarran's throat, coil around his petty man, who is so pretty, so unfairly perfect. Who holds him here with the promise of the Dark, and the night, and everything that Ben can never have. He drops his weight down, heavy against Tarran's chest, against the struggling gasps. And then...

“You're hard? You're getting off on this?” His voice cracks a little, can't believe it even as Tarran twitches his hips upward a little. “Oh, Tarran,” and now Ben can feel the words slip out, soft as silk, cold as ice. He grinds down, and Tarran lets out a little whimper around Ben's fingers. 

Ben pulls his hand away, but the Force... the Force remains. And Tarran stares after him as Ben tugs his boxers down, dick not so soft anymore. It's a pretty cock, curving a little as it reaches up to the underside of Tarran's soft belly. And Ben laughs, chuckles deep in his throat.

“Torturing you, am I? I see that.” There's trickle of blood running down the side of Tarran's ribs, and he leans forward to lick it away. Tarran makes another unintelligible whimper and Ben flicks his fingers, lets the Force slither away from Tarran's throat. 

“What was that? Did you have something to say?” Tarran gasps, long aching breaths. And Ben strokes a finger down his cock, teases behind his balls.

“Yes, Ben.” A moan, and he can't tell if it's an agreement or something else, need blackening Tarran's voice, too dark to tell. Broken, hoarse from the curl around it. 

“Do you want something, Tarran?” He calls the lube over, dips his fingers in the little jar. “Did you want more, maybe?” Tarran looks down, arms still outstretched, bound tight. He bites his lip, trembles a little. And Ben need that desperation back, that gasping irrational want that he saw a moment ago. He drinks in the Dark, lets the Force flow to circle around Tarran's throat. Lets it rest there, a collar on a toy that is all his. Tarran's eyes roll up a little as Ben slides a finger inside him at the same time. And he's loose, still opened up from where Ben fucked him this afternoon in the garden, Tarran's face in the dirt, his ass up, panting against the ground. Ben groans, pushes a second finger in. 

“Don't you like this, Tarran? Better than the alternative? I deserve this, even if you should have so much worse. Look at how good I'm being for you.” Tarran nods against the slowly tightening grasp around his neck and Ben smiles. Licks over the head of Tarran's cock in reward. And Tarran whines, high pitched, desperate. 

“Want me to fuck you? Have you remembered how good I am to you?” Ben can feel it surging through him with every word, that beloved-hated-needed rush of every good thing he's supposed to abhor. He pulls the Force away from Tarran's throat, watches Tarran struggle to breath, to fuck down on Ben's fingers at the same time. 

“Yes, you fucker. Come on, Ben. Yes.” And he pulls his fingers out, lifts up from where he's been nosing at Tarran's balls. Rubs slick over his cock with a hand that aches to find its way back up the line of Tarran's body, thumb bruises around Tarran's neck, his shoulders, his soft, soft skin. And then he's pushing in, and Tarran moans long and loud in the still air of the bedroom. 

“Put your hands back on me, Ben. Or don't you want to use them? You want to just choke me with the fucking Force, is that it?” And Ben knows Tarran is taunting him, is just trying to get what he so desperately wants. But with the Dark filling him up, pulsing though his bones to flutter, birdlike, around him in a halo only he can see, there's nothing he can do to stop himself. There's no way to resist, not with the ache in his mind, the walls all torn down. 

And so he wraps his fingers around Tarran's throat as he pushes forward, as he slides into this place that is his. Tarran gasps, hands pulling where they're bound. And for a moment, Ben wants to let him go, wants to feel those fingernails raking down his back, pulling him ever closer to oblivion. But only for a moment. 

Because he's deeper now, drowning. And Tarran's hot around him, gasping in the circle of his palm. Ben reaches down, wraps his fingers loosely around Tarran's cock as it twitches, as it threatens to spill. And then there's the rush of the Dark, the caress that Tarran always brings. It's pounding through him, and he wants to break, tear, own. He rips his hand away from Tarran's throat before he crushes his windpipe, grabs at the back of his neck instead. Tarran moans, filthy. 

And Ben can feel Tarran's cock harden even more in his hand, balls drawing up. He strokes faster, dazed, fluttering with power. Then Tarran's coming, throwing his head back to show the bruises already starting to darken his neck. Painting his belly with come. 

Ben scrubs a hand through it, fucks deep inside. And then the Dark overwhelms him in a crashing roar, dimming Tarran's whimpers, Ben's vision blurring. 

He slumps forward over Tarran's chest, flicks a finger to release Tarran's hands. Tarran shakes them for a moment, then buries one in Ben's hair where Ben rests a cheek against Tarran's soft chest. Tarran chuckles. 

“You're terribly easy, you know that, my dear Kylo? Terribly easy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on tumblr and talk of Tarran or any other Hux at [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
